


Nightmares

by DaemoninFluff



Category: Frey & McGray Series - Oscar de Muriel
Genre: M/M, Nightmares, Pre-Slash, aka Frey realizes he might like McGray tho, give Ian Frey a hug 1889, give Ian Frey a hug 2020, give ma sons a hug thx, no wait 2020 would be little late, post-A Fever Of The Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:21:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26682103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaemoninFluff/pseuds/DaemoninFluff
Summary: @ Gwen do not interact (yet)In short, Frey can’t sleep well since he saw (NOT™) McGray fall out of the window.Also I'm still uncreative when it comes to titles,,,
Relationships: Ian Frey/Adolphus "Nine-Nails" McGray
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> So y‘all remember how Frey said he had nae cried since he was a boy? Yeaa, we do nae support this unhealthy show-off of toxic masculinity so he’s going to cry and he’s getting a hug too, cause I love him  
> English isn't my first language so tell me if you find any errors (that do nae include oxford comma cause fck oxford comma)

Ian Frey sat on the side of his bed, the room dark apart of the small illumination the glowing embers were giving off. The heavy curtains were blocking the moonlight, but also the cold from creeping through the window so he hadn’t yet chosen to open them.

He drove his hands through his still damp hair; at least the shivering had stopped.

It hadn’t been the first night and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. Since they had come back to Edinburgh, since the Ardglass case had ended in the tragic death of Miss Caroline’s father, he hadn’t slept well.

Frey wasn’t stupid. He knew his brain was just trying to work out the events in Lancaster and on Pendle Hill – at least that was what he told himself. It had been a rough week after all, but now two weeks had gone by and he still wasn’t able to get a normal amount of sleep. And when he was honest to himself, he knew why it was. Better, _what_ it was.

In the beginning he hadn’t been sure if it wasn’t just because he had fallen asleep on the train back. The dreams had been vague, a mix of colors and shadows, the smell of fire and the feeling of cold going through his body. But they continued every following night – or whenever he fell back into his restless slumber – and when he finally started to really see, he realized his numerous near death experiences weren't the full volume of his dreams, not even what woke him up, every time in a cold sweat, heart beating fast and breath rattling as if he had run for what felt like a hundred miles.

Instead it had been McGray. McGray’s death, to be precise, or what Frey had thought to be the end of the man. And every time it got worse.

Frey knew McGray was alive, probably awake even, as he knew the Scot was plagued from nightmares just as well.

If Frey just knew why McGray’s apparent death was eating on him so heavily, why it didn’t seem to let him go; Maybe it would let him sleep easier, find some peace. The whole affair was a riddle to him though.

Frey made his way out of his room, didn’t even bother to close the door. The corridor wasn’t much colder so he didn’t saw the need to close it which might would have aroused whoever else was still awake – worst of them McGray. Frey knew he had to pass through half the house to reach the kitchen, but he preferred his small chance of going unnoticed.

Already as he came to the end of the stairs he realized he wouldn’t have such luck. To his demise most of the doors stood ajar, showing that McGray had once again been roaming around the house before deciding where to stay and therefore probably having left the door open to whichever room he had chosen in the end.

Frey went on still, trying to be as silent and inconspicuous as possible. It shouldn’t work, as he soon found out.

“Ye still awake”, came McGray’s voice from the drawing room. It didn’t feel like a question but Frey still felt obliged to answer.

“Just getting something to drink”, he said but didn’t even look at McGray. “Maybe something stronger…”

Frey strode on, following the dimly lit corridor into the kitchen, not even registering the scrapping noise the legs of the chair did as McGray stood up to follow him. He opened the door and only two steps in he registered the lack of light. The fire had burned out as it seemed, an hour or so ago, still warm but the embers weren’t glowing anymore. Joan also had turned out all the light and since the kitchen wasn’t on one of the outer walls there were no windows to let the moonlight or that of the streetlamps in. Just as Frey turned around the big shadow of McGray appeared in the door frame.

“Why didnae ask ye nanny to bring some juice, lassie”, McGray grunted. He moved to the side just to bring up a candle.

The light was bright between just the two of them and Frey had to squint for his eyes weren’t ready for it. McGray inspected him, Frey could feel the man’s eyes moving over his body. Heat run up his head and ears but he ignored it. As McGray took a step forward Frey turned around and walked up to the pantry. He couldn’t stand looking him in the eyes. Sure, they were alive, nothing like the cold, glassy globes he saw in his dreams, but whatever he knew he would see in them didn’t become him.

Frey could hear McGray grumble behind him as he searched for something high percentage. He found some whiskey behind a few old looking bottles of wine and took it, short of just opening the bottle and taking a few gulps out of it, wouldn’t McGray stand right behind him. So instead he turned around yet again to march out of the smaller room and get himself a cup just to have McGray stand right in front of him once more.

He sighted, “Can you let me get a cup or should I take your own measures and drink out of the bottle?” McGray didn’t need to know that Frey would have done it either way, even though he would have waited until he had reached his own room again.

“Why ye do nae sleep anymore, Frey”, this time McGray squinted, not because of the light and also not because of his eyesight – that had gone back to it’s regular sharp self just a few days after they had arrived in Edinburgh again. No, Frey knew he was searching for something, searching for answers.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”, he mumbled though while looking away. Frey just wanted to go back to his room, maybe relight the fire so he would be able to let the curtains open, just for a bit. He would drink and then he would finally be able to sleep for some more than just an hour or two at a time. Maybe he would end up like Nine Nails himself, not able to sleep without tossing around, staying awake most of the night and drinking himself to sleep. Going crazy. He was sure he would end up being crazy when it went on like this.

“Tell me or I’ll talk to ye wee brother and I’m sure-”

“Don’t you _dare_ talk to Elgie about this”, Frey hissed. His younger brother didn’t need to know about his sleeping problems – if they could be called that.

“Then ye would rather me talking to Joan?”

Frey pressed his lips together. He would have loved to just punch McGray but he knew that would get him nothing but a bloody nose himself.

“Ye as scared talking ‘bout yer feelings as ye are ‘bout believing in witchcraft, it seems”, McGray mused.

Frey huffed. He tried his best to shove McGray aside, pressed himself through the small gap and made for the corridor again, but before he could reach the door he was gripped by the arm, pulled around and in the next second Frey found himself pressed against the kitchen wall. He nearly let the bottle fall, but McGray was faster, grabbing it just a second before he let go.

McGray’s blue eyes were stabbing him with intensity. Frey wasn’t sure if the man could even see his face in the darkness of the room since McGray had abandoned the candle somewhere near the pantry, but he was able to see McGray’s face, mere inches in front of his own, eyebrows scrunched together and mouth tight in a slim line.

“I’m not scared of witchcraft”, Frey huffed, “since it doesn’t exist. It is _not_ real.” He tried to control the heat running into his cheeks but it was pointless as McGray’s breath hit his face, the warmth of the man’s body floating through his too thin night clothing, making the heat of McGray’s hand – still on his forearm – even more noticeable.

“Same goes for yer feelings, then?” Frey gulped. McGray’s eyes squinted again and Frey reminded himself of the man’s great eyesight. McGray almost smiled. “Nae? Then tell me.”

Maybe Frey could have ignored McGray, could have ignored the fear of him telling his Brother – or worse, Joan, who would have announced it to half of Edinburgh until the next evening for sure – but there was something in Nine Nails’ eyes, something warm, nearly caring, that made him break. And within a second Frey had to suck his next breath in, heavily, his lip already trembling and feeling his eyes burning.

He tried to tell himself he wasn’t going to cry, but he knew if he wouldn’t get away soon, he would. And he knew he wouldn’t get away.

“It’s all your damn fault”, he said, his voice quivering. McGray frowned, already opened his mouth to deny his doings in whatever Frey was about to claim, but Frey was faster: “I can’t sleep. I can’t _stay_ asleep. Cause every time I dream of this stupid stunt of yours and Ms Oakley! And every time it gets worse and all I can think of are-” He stopped for a moment, his breath heaving. Frey pressed his eyes together, he wished he was drunk for this, at least lightly. A first tear made it’s way out of the corner of his eye and Frey wasn’t sure if he should brush it off – which would also risk McGray noticing. “I- I see your eyes and they’re- they’re cold and lifeless and… I-It isn’t you! I know you are alive bu- but I just-” Frey gulped some more. He realized McGray had loosened his grip around his arm, had started to move his thumb over the soft skin on the inside like Frey had seen him do to his sister.

He knew he shouldn’t feel like leaning in. He was a man, grown up already, had studied twice – with rather little success, but still – and worked since some many years already. He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t lean in, wouldn’t search for body contact, not in any form. He was an adult. He didn’t need that.

“Hush.” McGray drove his free hand up to Frey’s face, brushed over his cheek and wiped the tears away Frey hadn’t yet realized were running down his cheeks. He blinked, tried to see, but his vision was blurred. “Speak, Frey. What are ye fearing?”

Frey wanted to snort but instead his breath hitched and he let out a small whine. He was sure he started to blush furiously.

“I- I don’t know”, he finally answered. “I just don’t know.”

McGray hummed, “Then why ye crying just thinking about it?”

“I don’t know.”

Frey was sure he didn’t fear McGray dying, why should he. They weren’t even friends, they were barely partners. McGray didn’t like him and would never do and specifically not after what they had thrown at each others heads in the week in Lancaster. They didn’t get along, maybe when it was about Campbell or the Lady Glass, but never much further. Frey was sure McGray hated him and he shouldn’t feel any different to the other, but just the thought of it made him lower his head and sob.

“Och, stop the whining, pretty boy!”

The next moment Frey found himself pressed against McGray’s broad chest, the tall man rumpling through his hair which would have bothered Frey if he hadn’t just fallen out of bed anyway. He lifted one hand, told himself he wanted to use it to push McGray away, but it just ended in the man’s shirt, his fingers quivering as he clutched them into the fabric.

“I just can’t bear the thought loosing you”, he whispered so silently he was sure McGray wouldn’t catch it, even if his face hadn’t been nearly crushed into the man’s shoulder. Frey wasn’t sure where that had come from, but he knew it was the truth.

It was the truth and it scared him.


End file.
